Chapter 17 Stone
Stone
Iwant nothing more than to put my sweatpants back on, watch a movie by the fire, and eat the leftover chili in my fridge.
But tonight is for Hanlon.
If he’s determined to help me, then I’m determined to let him. He seems to need tonight more than I do, and while I have zero plans to help him get laid, I’ll enjoy having a drink with him and seeing who he thinks is my type.
Except I somehow managed to forget this is Hanlon we’re talking about.
Hanlon never half-asses anything.
And tonight is no different.
He’s clearly bringing his A-game in a black button-down that’s tucked into form-fitting gray jeans.
He has a silver watch on his wrist, and while his hair isn’t gelled, the waves are pushed back from his face, and his glasses round out the ensemble, making him look far older than his twenty-two years.
“Jesus, Hanlon. I’m gonna be beating guys off you with a stick.” The nervous laugh escapes without my permission, and I don’t miss the way his cheeks flush a deep crimson. The color looks good against his pale skin and black shirt.
He’s always melted under my praise.
Would he enjoy being told how well he swallows my cock? The thought slips in, heating my neck, and I know my face must now match the color of Hanlon’s.
“Tonight’s not about me,” he says, thankfully unaware of the thoughts inside my head.
“I think that probably depends on who you ask,” I reply.
The flush on Hanlon’s cheeks spreads with another burst of color.
“Um, well, you look nice, too,” he offers.
“I look decent,” I argue.
He smiles as we head for the garage.
“Why, Stone, are you fishing for a compliment?”
I shrug, feigning nonchalance.
“I wouldn’t turn it down if you have one handy.” Ohmygod, am I FLIRTING with him?
Hanlon stops in the doorway, causing me to run into him, repaying me for our run-in earlier. Grabbing me by the shoulders, he looks me up and down and nods.
“You’re disgustingly attractive. It really doesn’t matter what you wear because the only thing every guy in that place will be thinking about is how to get you out of the clothes you have on.
You are effortlessly handsome, ruggedly sexy, and the best part is that none of it’s for show.
You have the skills and the knowledge to back up your mountain-man appearance, which will absolutely make every man in there a drooling puddle of precum at your feet. Better?”
Well, fuck.
Unsure how to respond, I deflect with humor because I’m totally at a loss here.
“So, what I’m hearing is you think I’m hot.”
His eyes widen a fraction, and he tries to hide his response by rolling them instead. Except it’s too late. He looked like a teenager who’d just been caught with a beer. That look that says you know you’re not allowed to have it, but you desperately want it anyway.
“Oh, please,” he says. He might get away with the whole ‘unaffected’ look he’s going for, but he forgets that I still know him better than anyone…maybe even himself…and the way his left eyelid is twitching tells me I’m right.
And as fucked as it is, knowing Hanlon thinks I’m attractive is more of a confidence boost than anything any other man will say or do to me tonight.
“Okay,” Hanlon says as we find seats in the sunken area of the lounge. The place is designed to invite conversation and mingling, having more couches and loveseats than tables. “What’s your type? I need to know what to help you look for.”
Coffee tables and end tables litter the space, and well-dressed waiters and waitresses roam, constantly on the prowl to offer a new drink and remove empty glasses.
The volume of the music is low enough that conversation can easily be heard, but the background noise prevents any awkward silences from hanging in the air. Thankfully, it also covers the thrum of my heart as it thrashes against my ribcage.
Looking around, I see a lot of polished men in their stylish clothes, sipping martinis, casually placing their hands on each other…and then my eyes come to land on the man across from me.
Hanlon is leaning against the back of the couch, right ankle crossed over his left knee.
He’s got his left arm draped along the back of the couch while he holds his beer in his other hand, a total picture of comfort in this space.
His coat is draped over the couch behind him, and his current position is pulling his button-down tightly across his pecs.
His top two buttons are undone, and I’m undeniably curious about how the skin there tastes.
Swallowing hard, I try to shake my head to clear it of those thoughts when a man approaches Hanlon and takes a seat next to him without even casting a glance in my direction.
“I apologize for being forward, but since it’s singles’ night, I guess that’s kind of the point,” he says with a shy smile. “Can I buy you a drink?”
I’m instantly ready to lash out—because what the fuck, man?— but Hanlon smiles and nods his head toward me.
“I appreciate the offer very much, but tonight’s about my…” Don’t say it. Please don’t say it. Let me pretend for a night, “brother,” he finishes, making me wince.
The man nods, says something I can’t hear over the ringing in my ears, and leaves.
“I don’t think this is the place for me,” I say abruptly.
“We’ve been here ten minutes!” Hanlon says with a laugh. “Now come on, tell me what you’re into. No shame. No judgment.”
“I don’t know,” I confess with annoyance because I can’t say what I want to say.
I can’t tell him the truth that grows brighter and clearer every day.
Hanlon leans forward on the couch, propping his elbows on his knees, and lowers his voice.
“Well, when you watch porn, do you like the bigger guys or the smaller ones?”
Forget shades of red, I’m certain my skin is so flushed it’s purple at this point.
“Jesus, Han, I don’t know.”
“You do know; you’re just embarrassed to say it out loud. And that’s okay. I don’t want to force you into something you’re not ready for, but Stone, you’ve gotta give someone a try at some point in order to know what you like.”
The irony of Hanlon coaching me—especially about this—slaps me in the face. I want to be good at this because I don’t want to be alone forever.
Blowing out a breath, I commit to the help he’s offering. Maybe if I follow his advice, I can actually become attracted to someone other than him. Then we all win.
“Just, like, a normal guy, I guess,” I tell Hanlon. “I feel like maybe bears and twinks are opposite ends of the spectrum, and I’m not really drawn to either. I’m just kind of like, in the middle, maybe?” I trip over my words, careful not to say someone like you.
“Okay, I can work with that. Not that looks are everything, but do you like facial hair or clean-cut guys?”
Immediately, I drop my eyes from his.
“Uh, either.” Fuck, this is awkward.
“Come sit over here next to me so we can watch the crowd together,” he commands.
“Hanlon, I—” but I don’t get a chance to finish before he grabs my wrist and yanks so hard, I go flying out of my chair and directly into him. Miraculously, he manages not to spill his drink as I slam into his chest.
“Was that really necessary?” I grumble, scrambling to get off him before I do something insane…like lick the patch of his chest I’ve been trying to avoid all night or stab him in the stomach with the erection that’s now introducing itself thanks to that little act.
“Yes, you were taking too long,” he says matter-of-factly. “Now, look over there at two o’clock. There’s a guy who just came in with a girl—the bestie, obviously—but he’s attractive, don’t you think?”
And so it goes for another hour and a half. I’ve lost count of how much I’ve had to drink, but Hanlon stopped after the first one, clearly understanding that I wasn’t going to be in any shape to drive after this horrific adventure.
I turn down everyone he points out, but instead of getting frustrated, my saint of a stepbrother just pats my knee and tells me not to worry; we’ll find someone.
Eventually, he goes to the bathroom, and I head to the bar. I’m positive more alcohol is not what I need, but I’m too far gone to care at this point.
As I’m waiting to be noticed by the bartender, another man comes to stand next to me. I greet him with a polite nod and then turn my attention back to the bartender, waiting to make eye contact.
Suddenly, the man’s breath coasts across my neck, sending a shiver down my spine…and not in a good way. It’s all wrong. He’s all wrong.
Jesus, what is wrong with me?
Am I gay or not?
Normally, I’d step to the side and give him some room, but there’s nowhere to go as he whispers against my ear.
“I’ve been hoping to catch you alone all night.”
My head whips toward the man. He’s objectively attractive, not creepy or weird. He’s just flirting. Even in my current state of moderate inebriation, I can tell that. I’m not offended or grossed out. I’m just not interested.
He does nothing for me. Just like every other man and woman I’ve silently begged the universe to let me find attraction towards.
“Uh, thanks?” I say stupidly, unsure how to respond since I don’t want to lead him on, but I don’t want to be a complete dick, either. Being an asshole at work is a lot different from being one in a social scene. Plus, I don’t want to reflect poorly on Hanlon.
Hanlon. How long has he been gone? I wish he’d get the fuck back here.
The guy chuckles and presses in closer.
I close my eyes, willing myself to want to give in; to feel any hint of desire for him or anyone else in this bar besides the one fucking human on the entire goddamn planet I can’t have.
But when the guy’s erection presses into my ass, and his hand slips into my pocket, I want to bolt.
Realizing I don’t know how to get out of this situation since I’ve never been in this situation, I freeze. And all I can think is this must be how Hanlon feels when he wants his body to move, and it refuses to cooperate.
It’s literal hell.